The Adventures and Misadventures of Yzavian Arturian
by HeyItsSimone
Summary: What would happen when a mysterious boy who looks like a Targaryen washes up on the shores of Casterly Rock? What would happen if a young Tyrion Lannister finds the boy? What would happen if Khal Drogo was already married? OC/LargeHarem Fem!Jon Discontinued. Rewrite is Azor Ahai, The Stallion Who Mounts The World.
1. Prologue

" _Yzavian Arturian,"_ speaking in Dothraki

" _ **Yzavian Arturian,"**_ speaking in High Valyrian

"Yzavian Arturian," speaking in Common Tongue

Yzavian Arturian, thoughts

 **Yzavian Arturian,** dragons speaking to humans; humans to dragons; in mind. Horses speaking to humans, humans speaking to horses, in mind.

 **11 years before Season 1,**

Drogo stared at his brother as he watched him swim in the poison water. His brother was too adventurous, their Father blamed it on his mother, she was a foreign bride and had died from the birthing fever, a week after his brother had been borne.

While his brother was four and weak, Drogo was strong and tall for a person of three and ten summers. He and his brother were polar opposites, rather it was in looks or the brain. Drogo would abide more by his father's rules, and the rules of the Dothraki. He didn't question why they couldn't travel over the poison water, he didn't question why they couldn't use blood magic.

Drogo was tall and muscular, the size of a man of the Westerosi soldiers, he had long dark hair always kept in a braid, copper skin, and dark eyes, and a wispy looking beard, his brother took more after his foreign mother. His brother kept his hair long, because he had not seen battle yet, it was silver and in the night glittered, he kept it in a long braid to keep it out of his way when he fought some of the younger tribesman, in training, he had pale violet eyes, almost silver in color if it was night.

While Drogo was tanned and full of bulging muscles, his brother was skinny as a stick and lightly tanned almost like a peach. He was so into his thoughts about the differences between him and his brother that he didn't even know that a storm was brewing right over his brother, as he playfully swam in the water.

The clouds were a bright red and gray, with blotches of purple in them, the sky was not even visible through the thick clouds. " _Yzavian,"_ he called out to his brother trying to get him out of the poison water, before the waves crushed his skinny brother like the stick he resembled. His brother laughed and splashed in the poison water, like he was freaking the greatest female dog in the world.

He became too deep in the poisonous waters, that he could only identify the blotch of pale gray as his brother.

His father had forbid Yzavian from swimming in the poisonous water last time he came home with the stench of the poison. Yzavian had simply pouted, but planned in secret his next visit to the water. He had been a fool to agree to go with his brother, his brother had tried to coax him into the water, even teach him how to swim.

He had refused, the only reason he had strayed away from the camp was to convince his brother not to go into the waters. " _Yzavian, we have to go back to the camps,_ " his voice rang out strong and clear, just like the voice of the future khal should sound like.

Yzavian head turned up, hearing his brother's voice. His brother and Father always ruined his fun. He had heard from his mother's relatives when they had come visit the Khalasar, which was his always his nameday, that his mother had loved swimming, they even suspected that she had some Ironborn blood in her.

But then he saw the clouds. He immediately been to panic, a storm was brewing and it was close, and he expected that it was a thunderstorm. Thunderstorms brought lightning, and lightning hitting water, making a fried Yzavian. He immediately began to panic, he swam as fast as his small body could take him. He quickly swallowed the poisonous water, and retched at the vile taste. His braid came loose and wrapped around his face, making him swallow the silver threads.

" _Brother help me.."_ His brother was becoming harder and harder to see, and it felt like he was becoming smaller and smaller. " _ **Brother, Brother, please save me."**_ He added this in High Valyrian, the tongue of his mother, that his aunts had taught him. He knew his brother couldn't understand him, and that made him cry, he was only a small boy. Lightning quickly striked about five kilometers away from him.

He shuddered, scared like a fish out of water. He would be next. He swam quick, but it was hard to move with his skinny arms against the violent poison. His head dipped under the murky poison, and he tasted it again, retching the contents of his meal before. He heard his brother yell again, he prayed to the Great Stallion, his Father's God, and his Mother's Gods', Balerion, Vhaegar, and Meraxes that he could be saved from the violent poison. He even prayed to the Drowned God.

But soon the waves swept him away from his brother, the camp, and his father. As strict as his father was, he still loved him. He loved his brother, he loved his father, he loved the bloodriders, and if he got lost from The Khalasar, then his aunts wouldn't find him and tell them stories of his mother, or old Valyria even though he knew they were fall too young to have seen Valyria.

He quickly felt his head being dunked under the water, and he didn't even struggle. He felt weak, he had swallowed too much of the poison and was feeling weak and lightheaded. His tongue was dry, and swollen, and felt too large to fit into his mouth. Black spots quickly took over his vision, and he submerged under into the field of unconsciousness.

That day, Drogo walked home as a Khal, but without his brother.

 **Casterly Rock,**

The Imp of Casterly Rock, looked over from a telescope at the small blob of white in the sea. "What the hell is that?" He asked Maester Rhae as he took a swig of wine from his own personal wineskin.

The Imp was small, under five feet, or exactly five feet. When he had enough wine in him he was exactly four feet, but in the morning he was exactly five feet. He had platinum white hair, but since he had dirt in his hair from his encounters from last night, it was dirty blonde right now, his face was of youthfulness but wisdom beyond his years. His eyes were of different colors, and deeply contrasted one another, one was of black, the other was of Lannister green.

up and down, while the boy just laid unconsciously.

Maester Rhae glanced at his young lord, and friend of many years. The Maester looked young, even though he was at thirty summers, he looked almost as old as his dwarf friend who was three and twenty summers. His hair was curly, and red as the first apple of the harvest, his eyes were a dark alluring blue. Back in his younger days he was the bastard of House Tully, now he was a renowned Maester of House Lannister. Around his chain was Silver, Valyrian Steel, Electrum, Pale Steel, and Iron.

"I don't know my lord." Tyrion took another swig from his wineskin. "Aye. Do you want to check, little Rhae." Rhae smirked, he was anything but little, he was exactly six feet. "Your Lord Father, will be mad, my lord if you get injured. We can't possibly injure the future heir to Casterly."

"Aye? Future heir? I think if you actually got me injured Rhae, my father will proclaim you ruler of the Seven Kingdoms against that oaf of a King, my _sweet_ sister married." Rhae smiled at his little friend's proclamation. "Only a poor Maester can dream."

Tyrion laughed, a dry laugh. "Poor?!" He said this in outrage. "You Maesters get more money, than the finest whore in Littlefinger's Brothel!" It was true, especially when they got paid by the richest lords in Westerosi to educate their sons and daughters. "Young Lords shouldn't spend so many times in brothels, enough to know how much money they get." Tyrion's cheeks tinged pink.

"Maesters should learn how to advise their lords, not dictate their lives." And after yet another swig of his wineskin, Tyrion Lannister took off running towards the docks, to see what the blob of white was. Maester Rhae chuckled and looked on the ground to see Tyrion Lannister's wineskin forgotten in the dirt. Tyrion had thousands, so he wouldn't care if one got lost. He quickly kicked the wineskin off the rock and watched it, as it splashed on the water, right by the white blob. He could see Tyrion running at the edge of the bank in his bright red and gold clothes. He quickly walked towards Tyrion, curious to see what the white blob was.

There really wasn't much excitement at Casterly Rock. Sure it was fun to see Tyrion and his Lord Father argue. There were no children at Casterly Rock, which meant he was a Maester with no one to teach, at least Tyrion stayed around.

As soon he came down to the small beach area (though where sand normally would be it was rock). Tyrion cradled a blob of white on his lap. He peered closer at it, and realized it was a small boy. He looked almost angelic. His skin pale and blue almost, dried from the salty water. His silver hair wet, and spread around like a halo. His body was small, and tiny, he could tell he was smaller than Tyrion.

"Is that….a boy?" He asked, wondering why there was a boy. "No, it's a fucking horse. I would think a maester of your caliber, would know what a boy is," Tyrion snapped. "How is his vitals."

Rhae crouched down to check the boy's pulse. "It's there but it's ragged. Get my medicine box out 0of my chambers." When Tyrion paused, "QUICKLY," he yelled. Tyrion ran as fast as his short little legs could take him.

Rhae laid the boy on the ground, and realized how much he looked like a Targaryen. Almost exactly like a younger Rhaegar Targaryen. He quickly found some dirt, and gently ran his fingers through his hair. His hair now looked a little brown but it still wasn't completely brown. He got even more dirt and threaded it through his hair. Now it looked like a rich brown color. He prayed that the boy didn't have violet eyes, for his sake and the boy's.

He quickly pushed his hands on the boys chest, pushing it up and down. If the boys had floated to Casterly Rock, then he would have had to inhaled some water in his system. He continued to pump the boy's chest hoping that he would show some movement.

Suddenly the boy spurted out a water, and continued to. He continued to, until both of them were soaked in seawater. His eyes were a pale violet, he could pass as a normal boy, barely.

"Aye. What's your name, boy?" He asked suspecting a Targaryen sounding name. The boy retched coating his already wet white tunic with throw up. "Yzavian Arturian," he breathed out, water quickly following.


	2. Chapter 1

Yzavian is pronounced like _**Why-zay-vi-yun**_

" _Yzavian Arturian,"_ speaking in Dothraki

" _ **Yzavian Arturian,"**_ speaking in High Valyrian

"Yzavian Arturian," speaking in Common Tongue

Yzavian Arturian, thoughts

 **Yzavian Arturian,** dragons speaking to humans; humans to dragons; in mind. Horses speaking to humans, humans speaking to horses, in mind.

Arya is 12

Sansa is 15

Lya (Jon) is 16

Bran is 13

Rickon is 5

Myrcella is 13

Robb is 16

Tommen is 9

Yzavian is 17

 **Season 1,**

Yzavian Arturian rode on his horse, Daemonfyre towards Winterfell. Daemonfyre had been gifted to him by Tywin Lannister after he killed his first man. He suspected, he was saying 'Congratulations, for your killing'. He had been seven at the time. Now, he had accumulated a total of seven horses. He had gotten all of them when he was seven, which was The Year Of Killing, as he had nicknamed it.

He hardly remembered anything about the time before he showed up at Casterly Rock, except he had a brother and Father that were obsessed with horses, and two aunts, and something about athletic men with lack of clothes. So, he had always had a close connection to horse, and a near obsession with Dragons.

He loved anything that had to do with Dragons, he collected cloths from the servants, and often asked them to sew Dragons onto them. Soon the maids eventually taught him how to sew and embroider, which were normally for Ladies. The only thing that he hated about the Dragons were the Targaryens. For some reason, he absolutely detested the Targaryen's, it wasn't the incest (it was none of his business), or the insanity involved in them. The first of them like Jaehaerys Targaryen he actually admired. Jaehaerys was a cool man with a wispy beard, that he thought would be a great grandfather. But Aemon the Mad, he hated, simply detested. He really wished the idiot Mad King had died in the flames, not from the Kingslayer slaying him.

He quickly glanced at the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister. Lannisters were not always a rotten sort, besides Tywin Lannister, Jaime Lannister, and maybe The Queen, Cersei Lannister, he heard her fits were violent. He had never met Cersei, but she was said to be a bitch. So maybe the whole lot. The Kingslayer polished his sword as he rode his horse, Honor or Glory he believed. His hair was bright and seemed to stand out against the white of the snow. People had said that Jaime Lannister was a handsome man, he couldn't see it because he was attracted to pots, not sticks, though he supposed sticks were attached to pots and could become pots. "Be careful, out here," he called out to the Kingslayer, "The Northerners speak of Wildings that come from behind the Wall, to teach us their savagery, and don't leave till the haunt our daydreams and nightmares."

Kingslayer smiled at him. "You speak of tales, The Northern Men are simply men who blind us southerners with tales to scare us out from the Wasteland they call home." Jaime Lannister put his sword in his sheath, and took off towards the distance. Glory or Honor kicking snow in Daemonfyre's eyes. Daemonfyre snorted, clearly angry at Glory's or Honor's bluntness of disrespect.

Daemonfyre, and all of his horses were set in an arch. All of his other horses denied anyone to ride them, besides him. Daemonfyre was a pure black healthy horse, with streaks of red on his body. On Daemonfyre's left was Draegen, a white horse with black spots. All of his horses were exoctic, he always wondered where Tywin Lannister had bought them. On his right was Bloodfyre, a blood red horse who came up to the height of ten feet. According to Tywin, Bloodfyre and Daemonfyre were brothers. Left to Bloodfyre was Yungun, a pure white horse with hints of blue on his fur, Yungun was his fastest horse, and had been with him the shortest amount of times. Left to Bloodfyre was Jhonhun, a purple horse who was a proud horse, and a greater horse besides his arrogance. Behind them was Hun, a light purple horse, who was mated to Koi, which was his white stallion.

"Aye. I think I see Castle Winterfell." He called this out to the house on wheels, where Queen Cersei, Prince Joffrey, Prince Tommen, and Princess Myrcella were stationed. "Tell Prince Joffrey to come out so he can greet Winterfell as The Crown Prince, Ser." He said this to a nearby Kingsguard knight. Did he mention he included the Baratheons under as a lesser branch of the Targaryens. He hated all of them, well maybe except Myrcella, Tommen, and Renly, he had never met Stannis, so he couldn't decide on him yet. He hoped Stannis wasn't anything like the Whoremonger King, for his own sake.

They suddenly stopped, to have enough time for Joffrey to get on his horse, and get to the front. "The Prince takes hours to get on his borrowed horse," he whispered to his horse. Daemonfyre neighed in agreeance. The prince quickly got out of the house on wheels, and looked angry. Prince Joffrey quickly swung his legs around the horse, and charged into the small distance of Winterfell castle.

Everyone followed behind him. The Northern castle was large, well that would be a real understatement. He gasped at all the snow, he liked snow, but there wasn't a lot of snow in Casterly Rock, or King's Landing which had seemed to be his new home, since he had been staying there since he was thirteen.

He quickly swung off of Daemonfyre. His cloak swinging against the wind. His hair was styled and it's usual brown braid, he always kept it long. His eyes sparkled with curiosity, and mirth. Lord Eddard Stark was known for his loyalty, even though he had a bastard. He was considered a bastard or a peasant, since he had no recollection of who his father or mother was. His skin shined against the white snow, and seemed to radiate color. He was always darker than the people of the Westerosi, or just one shade lighter than the darker skinned ones.

He quickly waited outside the gates, so the King and the Royal Family and their entourage could pass by. His horses neighed, starting to get restless. He was technically there to protect Tyrion, his surrogate father, who had probably stopped at a brothel at the North, that was usually what he did. He didn't care that Tyrion went to a brothel, almost five times a week, it was his life, not his. He had heard it was Tyrion's way to vent, since his first wife had been a hired whore, paid to love him.

He quickly got on Bloodfyre, switching up from Daemonfyre. Daemonfyre played with the dirt on the ground, drawing scribbles with his hoof. He sighed, looking at his horses, hoping that the stables would take care of them. Seven horses would be a big adjustment to the Winterfell stables, he would be surprised if they could fit all of them. Yungun and Jhonhun could stay together since they had mated. Daemonfyre and Bloodfyre could stay together, and Draegen could stay by himself since he wasn't one to get along with the other horses. Hun and Koi would stay together, they were after all inseparable.

Ser Chyris, a friend of his came up beside him on his horse, Gloria and patted him on his back. Gloria neighed at Draegen, somehow the two had entered some type of horse courting. "Friend, the King has introduced himself the the Northerners and you can come in now."

Chyris was a handsome fellow, and the ladies would have been all over him, if his wedding ring wasn't so proudly displayed on his finger. With dark brown hair, almost as dark as the lightest haired Stark, and forest green eyes he was one of the pretty knights. He was only seven and twenty summers old, and yet had five children. Him and his wife, Martha sure worked hard on their children, the oldest was eleven. He was sworn to the Baratheon's, but him and his family had been staying in King's Landing since he was a squire.

"Aye. Are there suitable preparations for my horses." He quickly rubbed Draegen's hair, Draegen neighed in annoyance, and continued rubbing his nose into Gloria's mane, sniffing her. Draegen was a weird horse to him. "You and your horses, I swear you are queer boy, many boys your age would have been running off to brothels, and here you are worrying about your horses. I even heard the Greyjoy boy has taken the oldest Stark boy to the whorehouse. I suspect that is where the Imp is now." He quickly felt his cheeks get hot, he felt glad for his peach colored skin thankful, no one saw his blush.

"Aye, _Tyrion_ is at the brothel. But it is none of your business, friend. Do not forget where you came, and who is above you. Tyrion is the heir of Casterly Rock, The Lannisters which happen to be one of the richest lord families at the time, even the crown that you serve is indebted to them." Chyris reigned in Gloria, and held up his hands in defense. "I meant no harm to you friend, I know you think of Tyrion as a father." He quickly readjusted his positioning on Bloodfyre. He was taller than everyone, since Bloodfyre was came up to ten feet, it was a struggle getting up on him.

"I don't think of him as a father, I know he is my father. He might not be my blood, but he is to me." And with that note he entered Winterfell, Winterfell was a great castle, big and great, some people said that it was built by giants and Bran the builder, he instantly knew that it must have took only giants to build Winterfell, it was magnificent and even better than King's landing which smelled of piss, shit, and sex.

"Isn't it magnificent," Chyris asked. "I envy the Northmen of their castles, that is for certain, they can take their wall, their night watch, their legends, but their castles I would like to keep. I wish I owned a castle, but I was born a peasant, born to grovel under the feet of the people that live in the castle's." He lived in the Castle at King's Landing, he was expected to, many people suspected Tywin was grooming him to be the next Lord of Casterly Rock, and would mary Myrcella Baratheon, so the line would be Lannister still. He detested that fact, Myrcella was a pretty girl but she was five years younger than him.

"It is quite extraordinary." The courtyard was bare, since everyone was inside probably feasting on the great feast. "Let's get onto the feast before all the good food gets eaten." He sighed, and wiped his sweating brow even though it was as cold as dry ice in the room. "I have to take my horses to the stables." Chyris laughed, and headed toward the castles. Draegen neighed at Gloria in goodbye. "Take my Gloria with you, see to it she has a warm stall, and hay. It has been a long trip."

"Yes, it has. I wonder why the King has sent for us to come to Winterfell in such a rush." he quickly brushed Gloria long mane, the sandy and warmness making him smile. "The Reasons why I love horses is because they are strange creatures, the only thing that I remember about my family is that they loved horses. I don't even remember my own father's name, or brothers. The Maester said that my lack of oxygen caused me to have memory loss, and horses make me feel...at home." Chyris nodded, at lost of words. He quickly led the eight horses around the castle, till he found the familiar smell of horse shit, vomit, and possibly piss. He quickly leaned up against the wall, and watched all eight of the horses walk by slowly into the stables. He quickly entered the stables being overwhelmed by the smell of...horse. "Hello? Is there anyone in here? STABLE BOY," he yelled quickly.

The stables were overcrowded at least the middle of it, there were about four stalls left. "Who are you?" He quickly turned towards the source of the voice, and immediately stopped in his tracks. She was a girl, but she wore pants like some of the peasant girls he had seen that could not afford dresses, on her was a dark brown leather shirt that he had seen the blacksmiths wear, and she wore worn leather shoots that looked to be covered in horse shit.

What had made him silent, though was her appearance. She was one of the rare girls that could have been beautiful even when she was covered in dirt, or horse shit in her case. She had skin the color of the lightest almond he could find, long dark black curls adorned her face, stopping at the start of her neck. Her eyes were a dark black color, and entranced him with how wild they looked. "Might, I ask you again. Who are you?" She picked up an ax, by the doorway, he noticed it was a splitting ax, and was covered in few wood shavings on the blade.

He quickly snapped out of trance, and said his name. "My name is Yzavian Arturian, servant to the proud Lions, the Lannisters, protector of Tyrion Lannister, the future heir to Casterly Rock." She studied him for a second, her eyes calculating. "I've heard about you, the Northerners call you the man of salt and the sea, some say that you in battle is like seeing a sex god have sex. Though I've come to the point of not being impressed. You are nothing but a boy, not a man, younger than me it seems, and possess no weapons."

He blinked, and blinked again. This lady was quite hostile, even though she seemed to be as soft as a petal. "Since I've given, you my name, might as well give me yours, my lady." She turned around a small smile tugging her lips, "I'm no lady, I'll have you know my name, though, Isasorla Nereth is the name, my friends call me Truth." She then turned around and led the horses in their respective stalls, what surprised him was that she knew exactly where to put them, in the exact order he would have arranged them. He looked at her in wonder, "Can you please leave now, it would be much appreciated, i'll put hay in all of your stalls."

He quickly turned around, then stopped in his tracks and looked back at the girl as she slowly loaded the hay into the stalls almost mechanically. "What is a girl, such as yourself doing here in the stables." Isasorla stopped putting the hay in the stalls, the horses neighed in annoyance, as they had to wait longer for their hay longer than expected. He sent a smiled their way, to say his apologies.

"Will you leave once I tell you, Arturian?" Her voice clearly identified that she was annoyed. He thought for a second, this girl was beautiful, but she was way to hostile, but she was an enigma, and so was he, and he always questioned his fellow enigma. "My family has always served the House of Winterfell by tending to their horses, or being a blacksmith. However my father, Jak Nereth married my mother who was from Dorne, who only gave him one child which was me, and since our family has tended to the horses and steel of Winterfell, I shall take on the duties. I learn under my father for blacksmith skills, and I am the caretaker of all the horses of winterfell. Now Servant to the lions, can you please let me do my work?"

Her story was very interesting but not unknown of, when women could not give their husbands sons, they birthed them daughters, either the family died out, or the daughter's took over what the son's position would have been. "Yes, Lady Isasorla of House Nereth." He bowed, a smile on his lips as he saw he had annoyed the pretty girl. "As I told you before, Servant to the Lions, I am not a Lady my mother is, give her the required bows, I am very sure she would be very happy to receive them. Go to the feast, before your bone freeze over, I know you Southerners cannot handle the cold as well as we."

He quickly looked over at her lack of layers, and felt almost petty with his enormous amount of layers. "Will I see you at the feast, Isasorla?" He asked this, he would want to explore the girl that had such enchanting beauty that it had left him, who was not much enamored with girls, wanting more. "You might, if you quickly hurry to the feast, so I can get my work done." He quickly ran toward to castle, hearing her melodious laughter following him.

He smiled, she was quite enchanting, though confusing because of her hostile behavior. He quickly entered the room where the feast was held, and inhaled the smells of delicious, and moist watering food. He quickly spotted the King grabbing one of the serving girls breasts and sitting her down on his enormous lap, he quickly released a hearty laugh that shook the whole room. At the top was an enormous table where the Royal Family sat, and so did the Starks. It seemed that they were sitting on a stage of some sorts causing them to be seen by all the lesser or peasants.

About seven larger and more wider tables, however with more seats and less space. He quickly saw a space opened at the fourth table by a girl with dark black hair, and pale skin. He quickly decided to take the seat. "Hello, my name is Yzavian Arturian, and is this seat reserved for anyone?" He quickly asked the girl not really noticing her facial features due to her looking at the floor, and drowning a goblet of what he assumed was alcohol. She quickly tilted her head up, and gazed at him. He quickly drowned in her deep doe grey eyes. She had a heart shaped head, pale skin with no blemishes, luscious red lips, and curly dark black hair.

"Yes, it happens to not be open, you are welcome to sit down." She motioned her hands to the seat beside her, he noticed that she happened to have a slur with her voice. "I've heard about you, they say your fighting skills are impeccable, they say your loyalty is unwinnable, which is probably why you have stayed with the Lannisters for so long." He quickly nodded, he was good in battle, at least he thought. Many people had congratulated him upon being good at battle, however he didn't care, he only participated in Tourneys so Tyrion would be proud of him. He had a few golden dragons saved up, enough to buy him a nice old castle. He was richer than the Royal Family since they were millions indebted to the Lannisters.

"Fair Maiden, let's not talk about battles, this is a time of celebration, brothers have been united. The Houses of Baratheon and Starks shall be joined as one united front. Might I ask what your name was." He quickly filled up his plate with a few boiled potatoes, carrots, and some wings of the chicken. She quickly drowned yet another glass of the unidentified alcohol. "Lya Snow, is the name, and yes I am the Bastard of Winterfell." She quickly looked at him with hopeful eyes.

He had heard the Bastards weren't treated desirable. He had always wondered about the bastard of the Stark family, the great Eddard Stark who had soiled his name by producing a bastard with an unidentified woman. But the beautiful girl before him didn't deserve any of that prejudice. "That's a beautiful name, for a beautiful girl." He smiled at her, "The name however does seem familiar.

The girl blushed, her action were slurred all though cute. "I was named after my aunt, Lyanna Stark." He quickly remembered the beautiful Lady of the North, that many people sang songs about. "Aye, a befitting name for a beautiful Lady like yourself, Lady Lyanna Stark was after all the cause of Robert's Rebellion."

The girl's smile suddenly turned sour, her eyes became as hard as the steal he battled with. "I am not a Lady nor a Stark simply a bastard." Unshed tears quickly made themselves known in the corner of her eyes. She quickly stood up ready to leave, "My Lady, I meant not to offend-" He quickly reached to grab her arm, noticing she was wearing a badly sewed dress, over it however was a long, and furred winter coat.

She stumbled, about to use the table to catch herself, he quickly noticed all eyes were on the Bastard of Winterfell. He quickly caught her in his arms. He inhaled her scent, she was not as tall as he thought she would be, maybe that was because he was about seven feet tall. She was six feet, Stark men were a couple inches taller than her, her head fell perfectly under his chest. She smelled of fresh roses and honey, which was ironic, because no flowers grew in the North. As soon as her head hit his chest, she knocked out. He quickly looked at the table where the Starks and Northern Family were sitting. Lady Stark looked enraged at the scene, Robb, Bran, Eddard, and Rickon looked concerned. While Sansa Stark looked mad, and criticising at the scene before her, because her precious Joffrey eyes weren't on her.

Joffrey looked concerned, but for a person who knew what he was actually like, knew he was uncaring. Myrcella and Tommen looked confused, yet worried at someone they didn't even know that well. He smiled at them. He quickly looked over at Sansa. Lord Eddard Stark really did produce healthy children. While Lya however resembled and was the Embodiment of a rare Northern Flower. Sansa resembled an exotic southern flower, which were exactly what the Tully's were...Southern People. She had pale skin, rosy cheeks and full red lips, which matched the color of her vibrant red hair, she had vibrant blue eyes, and he could even see from a few feet away what color her eyes were.

Sansa blushed, noticing that Yzavian Arcturians eyes were on hers. People had said that Tywin Lannister was grooming the foreigner to become the next Lord of Casterly Rock, over his own son, The Imp, and marry Myrcella Baratheon, who wouldn't stop gushing about the older boy at the dinner table with an awestruck look in her eyes. Yzavian Arturian was a handsome boy, really he shouldn't even be considered a boy, since of his looks. He had to be at least seven feet tall. His hair was long and brown, though the brown did seem quite discolored, his skin color was dark. His eyes however were breathtaking, a pale violet color, almost like the tales, she heard of the Targaryens. His lips were plump, and a pink color, just wanting to be kissed. His face held no blemishes, and he had muscles, unlike the prince. He had actually muscles that seemed to be straining to be released from his coat.

The prince suddenly looked like a regular peasant boy, compared to the boy right infront of her clutching onto her Bastard half sister in front of her. She felt an overwhelming sense of jealous, as she stared at the arms of the boy that contained her half sister. She quickly stuffed a piece of lemon tart in her mouth to push the jealousy away. "Sansa," her mom says chastising her actions, "Chew first, we are in the company of royalty."

"It's okay, dear." The Queen said to her mother, "I understand, how girls get when they find something they want, and it's simply….appetizing."

Yzavian quickly shook himself out of his thoughts. He quickly took Lya away from the prying eyes of the peasants as they looked at her with hatred. He left his plate on the table, his belly filled with hunger. He would find one of the servants to take her to her chambers.

 **What did you think? Review please, it fuels me to write faster. Who do you want to be in Yzavian's harem?**


	3. Chapter 2

Yzavian is pronounced like _**Why-zay-vi-yun**_

" _Yzavian Arturian,"_ speaking in Dothraki

" _ **Yzavian Arturian,"**_ speaking in High Valyrian

"Yzavian Arturian," speaking in Common Tongue

Yzavian Arturian, thoughts

 **Yzavian Arturian,** dragons speaking to humans; humans to dragons; in mind. Horses speaking to humans, humans speaking to horses, in mind.

Arya is 14

Sansa is 15

Lya (Jon) is 16

Bran is 13

Rickon is 5

Myrcella is 14

Robb is 16

Tommen is 9

Yzavian is 17

 **Season 1,**

Bran Stark climbed assiduously on the tower, choosing to place his hands on the right stones with care and previous knowledge. Yzavian Arturian stared at the boy in wonder, as he had heard, Bran Stark was not really well in much archery, or sword fighting but he was quite well in climbing.

He stared at Bran's direwolf. Summer or Winter? Something like a season. Summer had greeted him warily when he had first walked into the courtyard but had warmed up to him quite well. He patted Summer on the head loving the warm feeling of his fur. Bran jumped about two feet down, landing on his feet with a thump.

He stared in amazement at Yzavian as he just patted Summer. He offered him a tired smile, "You sure can climb, my lord." He offered a weak bow, tired from the night before. He had after all, had to walk up many steps to get Lya Snow to her chambers.

"Y-you're him, a-aren't y-you," Bran stuttered. Yzavian raised an eyebrow at him. "I am afraid I am not quite following what you are saying, Lord Bran Stark."

"You're the D-dragon of The Lannisters. The B-beast of the Lannisters. It is said you have never been undefeated in battle, the wit of T-tyrion Lannister, the s-strength of King Robert when he was younger, and the h-honor of my f-father." Yzavain laughed at hearing his title that had been given to him, when he had to protect Tyrion from a few thieves, or when he had participated in tourneys, or when he had killed his first seven people.

"Young lord, that is for you to decide if I am the 'so called Beast Dragon of the Lannister.' For now I believe, myself to be just Yzavian Arturian, an orphan of unknown origins who has been taken in by Tyrion Lannister."

Bran nodded his head furiously and thought carefully. "I think I'll have you just as Yzavain Arturian, The Beast Dragon of The Lannisters sounds a bit intimidating, and too awesome to be real, I believe it's mainly a legend to inspire poor peasant boys to make more of themselves, and to humble young lords with big heads. From what I see you are just an extremely tall boy with muscles, but you don't seem to be armed, however, you must be as courageous and humble as the legends depict you as, you demonstrated that when you took my sister, Lya to her chambers unhurt." Bran smiled at him.

Bran outstretched his hand, and Yzavian shook the shorter males hand generously. "I hope this is a start of a wonderful companionship, Lord Bran Stark." Bran smiled at Yzavian, admiration still gleaming in his eyes, but not for the reasons of the Beast Dragon of the Lannisters, he smiled at him because he was polite and kind as he showed before last night when he rescued his beloved sister Lya, from the prying eyes of the vassal lords.

"Call me Bran, Bran Stark, no titles, if we are going to be friends, we deserve to be equals." He released his hands from Bran's grasp and smiled at the young lord. "You'll have a good future, Bran, I can see it in your eyes, soon you won't have to admire those legends and knights, because you will become one. Now where did you learn how to climb like that?" Bran smiled, happy that Yzavian was impressed by him.

"I've always been fascinated to heights, I started climbing on my sixth nameday. I've never been as skilled with sword fighting or archery as my siblings, and always got embarrassed by my older siblings when I never placed the arrow right in the center, or even when my _sister._ Arya managed to do something that I couldn't. Over the time, I have grown able to be able to shoot a bow and arrow and hit my target even on a moving horse, with a moving target. I have been able to match opponents and defeat them, that are very much more my elder. But before that all I could do was climb, I still pale in comparison to my other siblings, but others also pale in comparison to me."

Now it was time for Yzavian to look at Bran in amazement, wondering if he could really do all those things. Starks were said to be very able in battle, Lord Eddard Stark displayed that very much in Robert's Rebellion. But Bran Stark was said to be the weakest, even his sister advancing farther than him. "Would it be possible for us to have a light sparring match? My bones have been aching since we left Kings Landing," he said this last part in a joking matter, "and 'Ristan is no fun anymore, I beat him on my thirteenth nameday." He laughed. Bran Stark looked confused for a second at the unfamiliar name, then realization dawned on his face.

"YoucallLordCommanderBarristanSelmy, Ristan?" Bran said this in a jumbled up, garbled speech, that made even Yzavian Arturian, multilingual, speaker of many languages stop in his tracks."What did you say?" Yzavian asked carefully, trying not to offend the young lord. Bran cleared his throat, and steadied himself by running a finger through his auburn hair. Tully hair, Yzavian thought with a small smirk. "You call Lord Commander Barristan Selmy, Ristan?"

Yzavian chuckled, "Oh that." He said this quirking his brow innocently. " _Barristan Selmy_ ," he said this putting emphasis on his name, "taught me all kinds of swordplay, after I left Casterly Rock, before that Tywin Lannister taught me the arts of swordplay since the age of six. He's like a grandfather just like…" Yzavian stopped for a second, tears threatening to spill out of his eyes. "Just like Jon was." Yzavain said this in such a hushed tone, that Bran Stark wouldn't have been able to hear it, if he hadn't been standing right beside him.

"Lord Jon Arryn...was a good man, my Father told me stories about him. I am sorry for your loss, I know he was amazing man." Bran cleared his throat, to diminish the silence. "Shall we make our way to the courtyard, that's where we usually have our matches."

Yzavain simply nodded, deep in his thought, he let his feet carry him in the direction of the Courtyard, but his mind stayed elsewhere. When they finally reached the Courtyard, Yzavian noticed they weren't the only people there. Sansa Stark, the beautiful southern flower, set closeby in a deck of sorts, close to an elderly woman, her sister Arya Stark, the beautiful Princess Myrcella, and Lord Poole's middle daughter, Jeyne Poole. Secluded in a corner was, the mysterious Isasorla Nereth, the beautiful enigma, watching carefully and embroidering an own piece of her own.

You could tell by Isasorla's clothes, she had just came from her blacksmith duties, wearing a leather tunic, homemade leather shoes, and dark leather trousers. However, as Yzavain peered closer, her embroidering was impeccable. She'll make a really good Lord's wife, he thought. He blushed quickly noticing how his thoughts betrayed him. However, he didn't see Lya at all inside the deck like structure learning how to embroider.

Jeyne Poole was the type of girl you could overlook easily, especially when she was beside the Stark sisters, she was neither ugly nor beautiful. She had straw like brown hair, black eyes the color of the night, and a square jaw that made her look too masculine for a girl, and a thick unibrow, however plump lips that balanced out her features, and made her look female. Her figure was dainty, though however plump around her face and her stomach, making known that she hadn't loss her baby fat, she looked to be his age. She seemed to admire Sansa, greatly by the way she looked at her embroider with dedication, like a peasant girl looking at a prince. Just like how Sansa looked at the courageous, Prince Joffrey, he thought dubiously.

A wry, humorous smile tugged at his lips. Could she have been one of those girls, that swung the way of pots. The look could be not admiration, but longing. He chuckled, startling Bran who looked at him with confusion. "Sorry, just something that I was thinking in my head." Bran shared a laugh of his own, the lightness of it making him smile.

Next to Sansa was her sister, Arya who made faces at her embroidering piece, which looked more like jagged lines of color, on a white cloth. Though Arya wasn't as beautiful, as her sister, as in time she would grow to be, she was however a beautiful girl, as beautiful as Myrcella. He smiled at the beautiful girl, she was his closest friend at King's Landing, besides Gendry an apprentice for a Blacksmith, that they had worked alongside with.

Arya had long dark black hair the color of the night, dark silver eyes, a lot darker than her sister, Lya, bordering on Tully blue. She had thin pink, kissable lips, high cheekbones prominently shown before her rosy cheeks. She had a feminine face, which was covered in dirt making the girl seem boyish almost. She wore dark brown trousers surprisingly, and a white tunic shirt much too big for her. Her chest was flat, flatter than both of her sisters, and which meant she took after her Tully mother in that aspect.

He smiled at Arya, as she joked around with Isasorla, maybe the two were good friends? Arya seemed to be a girl that didn't fit around quite well with other girls, and it showed when Jeyne Poole looked at her with distaste, or how her sister, Sansa looked at her with love in her Tully blue eyes, but deeply hidden by the look of unwanting. From her choice of clothes, it seemed like she was more boyish than girlish. She resembled more of her brothers, then of the future lady she was supposed to be.

Yzavain turned around to the center of the courtyard, and was really surprised with what he was seeing:. Engaged in the battle, was the oldest Stark boy, Robb, and Lya Stark, and it seemed as if Lya Stark was winning. In the background, Lord Greyjoy's son cheered Robb on, even though it was clear he was losing. Lya's hair was kept in a tight bun, her lips pursed in concentration as she wielded the sword. She wore light leather armor, like her brothers, and the Greyjoy Boy, Tim or Theon something with a T.

Lya slashed, and slashed recklessly, causing Yzavian to see her fighting style easily. She seemed to put all of her force in her blows, and tried to overwhelm her opponent with the multiple attacks, her foot work was impeccable, she was quite fast, but her brother was fast too. His style was more careful, he mainly focused on defending himself, and making himself warded. He was like a panther, fast, his footwork beautiful, and graceful, only attacking when he saw an opening from his opponent. The more he watched the battle, the more he felt entranced.

Robb was handsome, with high cheekbones, a chiseled face, Tully blue eyes, and tousled auburn hair. Mostly, he resembled Maester Rhae, the bastard Tully son, who had become a Maester to the Lannisters. He wore leather armor over a white tunic, and a strong, thick winter coat. Lya wore a similar thing, with a tight leather tunic, that hugged generously over her huge bosom, she also wore thick leather pants, with tribal patterns etched on them, and black riding boots. Over her jacket, was a thick white coat, with silver colored fur lining.

Lya quickly disarmed her brother, letting the wooden sword fly over to the other side of the courtyard. She placed the edge of her wooden sword to her brother's neck, Arya and Isasorla smiled from the deck, while Sansa looked disgusted at her bastard sisters actions, and her attire Theon merely offered a small smile to Robb, saying that he was sorry he lost.

"What can I say, dear sister...you managed to best me again. I will get you next time however." Robb said to his sister, a smile paying on his pink rose lips. Robb grabbed a gray towel from Theon, and wiped the sweat from his face.

"There won't be a next time, dear brother. Uncle Benjen rides towards the Wall tonight, if I can just convince father to let me-" Lya was quickly cut off.

"No, Lya. Father is right, you need to stop with this foolish dream of yours. Father will not allow you to go off the wall, in disguise as a male, to get yourself killed, be happy he even allowed you to even learn how to swordplay along with us, instead of going to your embroidering classes." Robb said looking at his sister hopefully.

Lya Snow quickly frowned. "I will go to the Wall, mark my words, dear brother. I will trim my hair, and will bind my chest, and no one will even notice I am female. You said it yourself, Robb, I am better than you at sword fighting, I can protect the Seven Kingdoms from what lays beyond, earn a name for myself and make our father proud of me." Lya said pleadingly to her older brother, after putting away her sword in the armory.

Robb turned his way to Lya, "Stay in Winterfell, Lya. I'm sure you'll find you a nice lad, settle down and all this Wall stuff will be out of your head." Robb quickly gave his sister a chaste kiss on her forehead, and quickly walked away ending the conversation.

What a interesting dream she had, thought Yzavian.

Theon motioned for Lya to come closer, and whispered something in her ear that made her recoil, and instantly kick him swiftly in the balls. Yzavian happened to be the only one that heard what he said, instantly reached into his boot for his knife, but smirked as soon as he saw that Lya had it handled.

Theon had whispered to Lya, "You know what would really help a girl of your station," Theon licked his lips at Lya's buxom chest which heaved up and down from the exercise before, "How about work at Littlefinger's brothel, since your father is moving south. You have the body for it," he leered. Theon quickly made sure to brush his lip against Lya's ear, "also the mind for it."

Yzavian looked at disgust at Theon, for even saying some mess like that to a lady of her beauty. Theon fell down clutching his family jewels, "You bitch!" he shouted in anger.

Robb quickly laughed at his friends predicament, "Lya is most definitely not a dog, but a Wolf of The North."

 **Sorry about the long absence, I hope you enjoyed it. Review please, it fuels me to write faster. Also, do you think Lya's plan will work?**


	4. Rewrite

Hello. I will be producing a new story, the rewrite to The Misadventures to Yzavian Arturian. There will be key differences, however mostly everything will be similar. Yzavian will resume a new name, I believe my writing will be more advanced, and there will be longer chapters. The update will come sometime this week. The name will be: Azor Ahai, The Stallion Who Mounts The World.


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